Journal of the Obvious

I am three months into this experiment, which started as a goal to post every day, or nearly every day.  This changed, in January, to writing everyday without the pressure of posting every day.  This has been, generally, great.  Every book about writing that tells you that the most amazing, wonderful thing you can do, if you are interested in writing, is to just do it.  Just write every day; this alone is transformative and satisfying.  Well, it’s true.  I can’t claim this to be a very surprising or novel revelation.  I am joining thousands of voices before me – much more articulate and gifted voices, no doubt – in saying this.  I suppose that sometimes the most obvious but truest things are the things that bear so much repetition.  (Stay tuned!  Next week, I’ll reveal that exercising 5 times a week really makes you feel better and it’s great for your health!)

It is also nicer – to be obvious again – to write to some purpose.  I just listened to this Bullseye podcast episode with Lynda Barry.  She was discussing how journaling and drawing can be fun to look back on, but not if you just express feelings, disembodied from action, character or narrative.  She told the story of her friend who was so excited to discover a stash of journals he kept from high school – he is now in in his 50s.  But, upon reading them, he was very disappointed.  He said that all he had written about were his feelings.  His description of his disappointment was great.  He said it was like discovering a first hand account of the Battle of Waterloo but written by a monkey.  You didn’t get any sense of the action or descirption of events, it was all just bananas! bananas! bananas!

So, now that I’ve established how great writing every day is, I am going to add the completely contradictory and still obvious observation that it is also sort of awful.  I sit down to write.  I find that I resist even opening the documents on my computer.  I have to, while I mentally prepare to do this, open up my web browser.  This is, as I am sure we all know, a great mistake.  Sometimes I just pull up my blog, allow it to be open in case I need to upload something.  Occasionally this is distraction enough, this satisfies my desire to avoid, and I just dive into my documents and start writing.

More often, though, I really need to look something up, something quick – it’ll-just-take-a-minute quick – something I was thinking about the afternoon before, something that will simply drive me mad if I don’t look it up right now – say the Wikipedia page for Suzanne Pleshette.  Unfortunately, I do not go to Wikipedia and search within in the site.  Instead, I google her name and “Wikipedia.”   This is another mistake.  Now I have her Wikipedia page, but what’s that below?  Her L.A. Times obit?  “Suzanne Pleshette, Sexy Star of Bob Newhart Show, Dies at 70.”  Well, that’s sort of a mildly irritating title, “Sexy Star of Bob Newhart Show.”  Was she?  I guess.  Why not “Funny Star?” my Woman Studies 101 self growls mulishly.  I should probably click it and see if the whole obit makes me holler or if it is just a stupid title.  Plus, when was that she died?  What was the cause?  I have a real need to read this obituary, obviously.  Nevermind that I can get that information on the wikipedia page.  I will definitely get back to that.

I open up a new tab in my browser, dive into her L.A. Times obit.  This is another bad idea.  Now, after a little perusing of the obit, I find myself, almost with no memory of getting there, on HuffPo Celebrity looking at 27 Celebrities Who Don’t Drink.  (It’s bad for your skin, says J.Lo.)  I miraculously avoid clicking any further links here.  “4 Youtube Channels Gay Parents Must See!” (Are there any Youtube channels I MUST see?) or “Tunisia Assures Star Wars Sets are Safe from ISIS” (Whew!  We can all breath a little easier now.)  But, unfortunately, I have to look up Bradley Cooper.  He was first on the list.  I guess he had a drinking problem.  When did he say he stopped drinking?  Was it before he was getting much work?  These are very important questions, establishing a timeline of Bradley Cooper’s life that…is somehow critical right now.  This takes me back to Wikipedia.  Finally, after looking at Bradley Cooper’s Wikipedia page, I decide to just read that Suzanne Pleshette page and force myself – absolutely force myself – to start writing.  Ignoring the buzzing need to look at that other listicle I have just seen, “25 Celebrities Who Are Totally Bisexual.”  I love these titles.

If I am lucky, I really  do open up whatever document I am actually working on.  This is when the really upsetting distractions start.  I have started to make a list of things I need to, in loosely Vipassana-inspired talk, “notice” and let go of, without rejecting but without clinging to these thoughts while I work.

1. William Gibson was so right.  Writing is about ignoring revulsion to my own work.  Part of this is
2. not focusing that much on the bigger picture of the actual work while trying to write a little bit of it because
3. the perspective I have on any project is so critical and negative that it is effectively useless, so
4. it’s better to simply focus on one little bit at a time and
5. trust that the picture will emerge.

Lynda Barry, from that same podcast interview, explained that adults are sometimes inhibited when trying to draw because they approach it assuming they need to know what they are drawing.  She said that many children approach drawing as an experience of discovery – oh, it’s a fire truck I’m drawing!  No, it’s a monster chasing a bumble bee!  Of course, this is true of writing as well.  Writing is thinking, you have to go through the whole, often ugly process, to actually make up your mind, figure out what you are saying, etc.  This is a freeing observation.  And a horrifying one.  It’s terrifying to undertake a long, draining process that will probably turn out very, very differently than you thought.  I, for one, like to know where I am going.  I like guarantees.  Sadly, life and writing are inimical to this attitude.  Too bad for me.

So, to round out my trip through the obvious, writing every day is great.  And sort of terrible.  On the upside, it feels gratifying and clarifying, in a stepped-back, take-a-deep-breath-and-enjoy-the-process kind of way.  It makes me feel courageous and strong to face the cognitive dissonance that is creating something, to take this risk on something that may seem totally pointless later.  Sometimes it’s even fun; sometimes you can create something very fluidly, very easily, just by starting, by getting out of your own way.

On the down side, it sometimes feels very non-fluid, like paving the whole world in tiny paving stones that are wildly uneven and idiosyncratic.  Each paver must consciously be measured and laid down carefully, painstakingly, by hand.  And you always have so much more to do, entire continents of uneven land to work your way over, one frustrating cobble at a time.  I guess you just hope it will be useful or, at least, picturesque when you are done.